In previous blog posts, we have written about the need for communication and the power of connection. And the dangers of serial killers’ basements.
Today, I want to tell you a more personal story. It’s about my mother. She moved from California to Munich in the mid 1970s and it was quite a culture shock. The only place she could buy a grapefruit was at Dallmayr, a very upmarket delicatessen. The easy living and bounty of the West Coast were a world away.
And so was her family and especially her own mom back in New York. When my mother wanted to speak to her mother, she had to go to the central post office, wait until an operator manually connected a line and then pay an extortionate amount of money for a few minutes of conversation. Photos could only be sent in the mail. And moving images couldn’t be shared at all.
I only realized how hard that must have been when I had my own daughter and we were living in London. I wanted to talk to my mother all the time. I wanted her advice, and I needed her support. I wanted to share the day’s small joys and big frustrations.
Video conferences where my parents babysat my daughter over dinner were certainly the highlights. But what really kept us connected and me sane (more or less) were the little messages during the day, the pictures we exchanged and the short videos I sent over whatsapp. I love how the world has gotten expanded since the time when sunglasses were bigger than sun flowers but technology allows us to be close and connected.
Stay connected, stay healthy